Page 9 of Not the Boss of the Year

"That I'm annoying?" he interrupts, again, and I can hear the humor in his tone. "I see."

"No, I'm calling you to let you know that I don't appreciate you calling me to tell me that we're never going to get together."

"Did I hurt your feelings?" he asks softly, like he's nervous he's going to break me. "I didn't mean to do that."

"No, you didn't hurt my feelings. I don't want you."

"You don't sound like someone that doesn't want me."

"What are you talking about? How does someone who doesn’t want you sound?"

"They sound like they don't care. You sound like you care a lot."

"I am angry with you," I shout. "And not because I care about you, but because I'm annoyed."

"Because I told you that we're never going to have the relationship that Lila and Max have?"

"I don't want the relationship that Lila and Max have. I am not even looking to settle down right now."

"Oh, in case I wasn't clear, I'm not looking for just a sex thing either," he says, chuckling. "Don't get me wrong, I love sex, I'm good at sex and I have many casual relationships, but I don't think it would really work out between you and me."

"I don't want to sleep with you. Oh, I'm so annoyed."

"Is that all you have to say or are you going to hang up on me again?"

"You wanna know what, Kingston Chase?"

"What, Skye Redding?"

"This." I say, then I hang up. I glare at the phone and stick my tongue out. I’m even angrier than I was before. I put my phone into my handbag and hurry into the restaurant. Of course, Fabricio is standing there, waiting for me. His face looks pinched and thin and I know he's about to let me have it.

"What time do you call this Skye?" he says, staring at his watch and tapping it.

"I don't know." I shrug. "Why don't you tell me? You're the one looking at your watch right now."

His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. "Three strikes Skye."

"Excuse me?"

"You're on strike two. One more strike and you're out."

"What are you talking about? What three strikes?"

"You're late for work again."

"I'm sorry." I press my lips together. "I'm sorry that I'm late," I elaborate through gritted teeth. I hate having to tell this jerk that I'm sorry.

"That's fine," he says, tilting his head to the side and looking me up and down. He takes a step forward and I watch as his nostrils flare. "I thought I told you to wear a skirt."

"That's not the dress code though. The dress code says I can wear a skirt or pants. I chose to wear pants."

He presses his lips together again. "I think you and I should go to the office."

"For what?"

"I think, if you want to keep your job, you're going to have to do a taste test."

"A taste test of what?" I play with my hair. "Am I going to be working in the kitchen?"

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